A Throne Forged by Shadows - Aaric Graycastle

The morning sun slants through the windows of the mess hall, casting long streaks of gold across the rough wooden tables. The air is filled with the usual mix of clattering dishes, muffled conversations, and the occasional bark of a warning from the kitchen staff when someone gets too rowdy.

Our squad sits near the middle of the hall, close enough to see everything happening around us but not so close that we're in the way. The tension from the first two weeks have settled just enough for Baylor and Lynx to return to their usual antics, and despite the looming reality of sparring challenges starting later today, they're determined to keep the mood light.

"Six weeks of fights," Lynx mutters, poking at his food with a fork. "I give it three before half of us are crawling to morning formation with bruises on our bruises."

"Oh, come on," Baylor says with a grin. "It can't be that bad."

"Easy for you to say," Lynx retorts. "You're built like a damn ox."

Sloane, sitting across from me, doesn't add anything to the conversation, instead focused on cutting her food into precise, even squares. She's been quieter than usual this morning, and when the conversation shifts to childhoods as a distraction, she doesn't hesitate before saying, "I had a brother. But he died."

Silence settles over the table for a beat, the usual morning noise of the mess hall dimming in contrast to the weight of her words.

Lynx, surprisingly, doesn't crack a joke to break the tension. "I'm sorry," he says, quieter than usual.

Sloane just gives a small nod, but the way she presses her lips together tells me she's still angry. Still mourning.

I glance at Aaric beside me, but his expression is unreadable. Of course, it would be. No one at this table knows who he really is, what he's here hiding from, the weight he carries from his own family. The only sign of discomfort is the way he suddenly becomes very interested in the cup in his hands.

"So, what about you, Em?" Lynx says suddenly, ever the menace. "Not like we even have to ask, since everyone already knows everything about you."

Baylor raises an eyebrow. "That can't be true."

"Surely there's something we don't know."

Lynx leans in, grinning, and starts rattling off a series of rapid-fire questions. "Favorite color? Weirdest food you've ever eaten? Do you secretly have a pet squirrel somewhere?"

I shake my head, exhaling a soft laugh. "Black, I don't know, and what?"

Lynx groans. "Oh, come on—black is boring and what every rider says. Surely it hasn't always been your favorite color. You had to have had a different one at some point."

I blink, caught off guard, and try to think about it. "I don't know," I say after a moment. "I loved the color green at some point, but that changed. So... black it is."

It's a simple enough answer, but my stomach twists as I say it.

There was a point, years ago, when I thought green was the most beautiful color in the world. More specifically—his green. Deep emerald, rich as summer leaves, impossibly bright when it caught the sun. But then Alic's eyes held the same color.

And after everything Alic did to me, I started seeing green differently.

Now, it doesn't feel safe. It doesn't feel beautiful. It feels like a warning.

It feels like a threat.

So, black it is.

Baylor nudges Lynx. "See? Not everything is common knowledge."